A puzzled look. “He tell you that?”

“No, his forty-year-old ‘girl’ did. She’s Bonnie. And Bonnie and Carl make Bonnie and Clyde look like geniuses.”

I filled him in on what little I’d managed to get out of our friend’s drunk-out-of-her-mind accomplice, and how Lt. Shoulders had the Arsenal Street apartment house under watch.

“When I get Steve alone,” I said, “I intend to squeeze it all out of him. But I did get the gist from Bonnie.”

His dark eyebrows flicked up, then down. “Oh, Christ. This is the Greenlease thing?”

“Yes. It is. Is the Greenlease boy alive? No.”

A loud sigh followed. “How fucked in the ass are we?”

“Let’s put it this way, Johnny—get sticky fingers around that ransom dough? Even a snazzy new outfit won’t make you feel good in the electric chair.”

Hagan shook his head glumly. “It’s the gas chamber in Missouri.”

“Sorry. Hard for an out-of-stater to keep track. But they let you sit down for that, too.”

He scowled. “Come on, man. You know Costello was only interested in that bundle if it came from some righteous source like embezzlement or robbery.”

I let him get away with that—bigger fish to fry.

“If Joe’s to be believed,” I said, “he wants nothing to do with the Greenlease kidnap except getting credit for helping nab the snatchers. Okay, then, fine. With luck and a little sweat, I can shake the whereabouts of this Marsh character out of ‘Steve.’ And what became of the boy…of his body.”

I gulped air, then gulped beer.

Hagan was nodding. “Give ’em Steve and Bonnie and Marsh, it’ll make the cops look good, and take some of the smell off Costello’s reputation.”

“He’ll be content with that? You got any idea how much money six hundred grand is?”

“I know it’s heavy carrying it up and down those damn stairs at the Coral Court.” He sat forward. “Look, I wouldn’t worry about Costello. He’s no saint, but the one to watch is Shoulders.”

“You’re saying a crooked cop who killed three times in the line of duty might be a threat?”

He missed the sarcasm or anyway ignored it. “Shoulders is a shakedown artist from way back. He’ll give a free pass to any thief who’ll cut him in for half. He’s nightwatch commander at the Newstead Avenue Station—perfect spot to not be seen doing what you shouldn’t be seen doing.”

I was glad I didn’t have to diagram that sentence.

I said, “You think Sandy got herself off to the airport?”

He shook his head. “No, she’s headed to St. Joe.”

“What?”

Flipping a palm, he said, “She told me she got a real good look at that money in Steve’s, or Carl’s, luggage. She said he’s from St. Joe.”

“Keep thinking of him as Steve for now,” I advised. “How did Sandy figure that?”

“Saw it in his hatband.”

So much for me being a great detective.

“I put her with another cabbie I know,” Hagan said, after a gulp of beer, “who said he was willing to make a meter-off trip out of town, if the two of ’em could come to terms. She has that grand from Steve, y’know. I wonder what terms Sandy and him will come to.”